“In the age of constant consumerism, fast fashion, landfills piling with clothes, and trends with a shelf life of a few weeks, there comes rebellion.”
My latest series of paintings explores nostalgia as both refuge and rebellion. This show is a love letter to those pre-cellphone summers. Back when a cigarette made you look mysterious instead of asthmatic (I think it was the ample amounts of collagen in the skin). While the work draws from childhood memories, it also reflects a growing unease with our hyper-connected world. These paintings are portals, not to any one decade, but to a slower frequency of being: when joy was tactile. Before we all doom-scrolled ourselves into submission, we had summers that felt warm, messy, and a little bit stupid in the best possible way.
I think society has unknowingly participated in a science experiment of information and entertainment overload, and I don't think I can handle it. We humans still have the same brains we had when we were hunter/gatherers essentially. It’s said that tech CEOs like Steve Jobs and Mark Zuckerberg limited their children’s screen time, aware of how addictive their own creations can be. Apps are designed with the same reward systems that keep gamblers pulling slot-machine levers.
When I was a kid, I was often told, “Stop watching TV and go outside!” On occasion, I remember finding the steepest hill nearby to take the skateboard down. The only way to stop was steering into the grass and tuck-and-roll. Falling was part of the adventure, and scraped knees were badges of honor. I would run in to grab a popsicle, track dirt across the linoleum, and run back outside before anyone could stop me. Rolling through summer with a Bomb Pop in one hand and questionable judgement in the other. We had slingshots, skateboards, candy, and no fear. And honestly? That was enough.
Roller rinks and bowling alleys were their own universes, complete with their own social order. In school, popularity was about clothes, grades, or whose backpack was least embarrassing. At the rink, non of that mattered. The real royalty were the kids who could glide backwards, moon-walk on wheels, or beat the high score in the arcade without breaking a sweat. Before cellphones decided who was popular by counting followers, status was earned the old fashioned way. Many Friday nights were spent skating in circles, chasing crushes below the glowing disco ball. This is a celebration of analog adolescence.
The floral and fruit patterns evoke wallpaper, temporary tattoos, childhood doodles, and a kitschy 1970's kitchen. It's meant to symbolize a youthful innocence. I recall boring afternoons where I decided to draw on my skin with a Sharpie. I would always have grass stains on my knees and listened to cassette tapes on my boombox - holding the tape case and reading the lyrics on the insert.
Each piece in this series honors the tactile pleasures of the pre-digital world: analog play, shared presence, and individuality. It’s not anti-technology—it’s a longing to feel human again. In the end, this series is less about looking backward and more about looking inward. It’s a reminder that our humanity wasn’t built for infinite scroll. These paintings are my attempt to slow the world down long enough to remember what it feels like to be present—grass-stained, sunburned, unpolished, and fully alive. By revisiting those tactile memories, I’m not chasing the past; I’m reaffirming something timeless: that connection, curiosity, and play are still available to us, right now, if we choose to look up.
